“Now for it!” whispered Conacher. “Do not fire until they are within a hundred feet. Bring down the horses first. You take the piebald and I’ll take the other two.”
But to their amazement and delight the riders wheeled and disappeared the way they had come. For a moment they stared at the empty place with hanging mouths. Then Conacher made as if to run out from among the trees. Loseis clutched him.
“It may be a trick!” she gasped.
They waited several minutes, not daring to rejoice yet.
“I must go look!” said Conacher. “I must know what they are doing.”
Loseis made no further effort to restrain him; and he ran up to the top of the rise, and flung himself down. At first he could see nothing but grass. Then the three riders rose mysteriously out of the grass, trotting away as they had come; showing their backs . . . their backs! Conacher nearly choked with joy. He waited awhile yet to make doubly sure. They disappeared and appeared again, holding steadily to the east. They shrank to mere specks in the green sea.
Conacher leaped to his feet, and charged back down the hill, yelling and brandishing his gun. Loseis snatched up her gun warily. Not until he came close did she comprehend that this was a pantomime of joy. He swept her clean off her feet in his embrace.
“They’ve gone back!” he shouted. “This was the outer edge of their patrol. They’ve given up the search! After this we’ve got nothing to contend with but nature!”
CHAPTER XXIII
HUNGER
Nature! They were to discover during the days that followed that she was no mean antagonist. At first everything went delightfully; the sun warmed and cheered them by day; the stars whispered at night. The moon was swallowed up in the dawn now. On the shortest night of the year there was scarcely any darkness; then the nights began to lengthen imperceptibly. They rode and spelled and rode again. They built great fires. The character of the country never changed. The sea of green grass seemed to be limitless.